Chapter 8: The Aftermath
Caelus didn’t wait for applause.
He already knew none was coming.
The tunnel stretched before him as he walked away from the arena. Behind him, thousands of people sat in stunned silence. All of them processing what they’d just witnessed. All of them trying to understand how the Hero had almost died.
Nobody cheered nor did they congratulate him.
Nobody celebrated.
He’d defeated the Hero even thoughhe didnt use his Affinity. But it was still the greatest achievement imaginable. The thing everyone said was impossible.
And nobody acknowledged it.
Figures.
The thought came quietly as tired acceptance.
He’d spent ten years in a hospital bed, watching people disappear from his life one by one. Friends who promised to visit. Relatives who swore they’d stay. His sister—
Don’t think about her.
Not now.
He pushed the thought away and focused on the tunnel ahead, trying to put one foot in front of the other.
The adrenaline began disappearing.
His legs felt heavy and his chest burned, arms shaking uncontrollably. Every injury he’d ignored during the fight suddenly caught up with him.
The shallow cuts across his arms throbbed, the gash on his shoulder burned, the deep wound where Lucian’s blade had pierced him just above his heart screamed with every heartbeat.
His breathing became uneven and shallow.
His vision blurred at the edges.
Just keep walking.
Don’t fall.
Don’t—
His knees buckled.
Before he hit the ground, someone caught him with a steady grip that had no awkwardness or hesitation in them.
Caelus looked up.
Lucian.
The Hero held him upright. He was silent and his expression was unreadable. His face as blank as a craved statue.
Neither of them spoke.
They walked together.
Lucian’s grip was firm but not painful. Supporting him without condescension.
Caelus hated needing the help, but his body had nothing left to give.
When they reached the tunnel entrance, he found his voice.
"Thanks."
Lucian nodded.
Caelus paused. He could have let the silence continue and could have walked away without explanation. But something about the situation demanded honesty.
"I insulted the Saintess on purpose."
He let that sit.
"I’m not sorry for insulting her. She deserved that."
He paused. The words came slower and harder now.
Lucian was quiet for a long moment. His expression shifted, it was not in anger nor into understanding.
It was something that sat in between.
Then—
"Win or lose... I still owe you a proper duel."
He released Caelus’s arm and stepped back.
"Next time, I won’t hold back."
Then he turned and walked away.
As Lucian walked through the empty corridors, the whispers returned.
...Kill him.
...Remove him.
He suppressed them and pushed them down. But they persisted, scratching at the edges of his mind like claws against stone.
He must die.
He shouldn’t exist.
He’s wrong.
Lucian’s jaw tightened as his hands curled into fists.
I need to speak with the Goddess.
The thought came unbidden. But it felt right. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
He kept walking.
Mira rushed toward Caelus the moment he emerged from the tunnel.
"Young Master, are you insane?!"
Her voice cracked as tears almost spilled out of her eyes.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?!"
She grabbed his arm and checked his wounds, her hands were trembling.
"I nearly had a heart attack!"
"I refuse to bury my employer before I’m thirty!"
Caelus blinked.
"...I didn’t die though."
"THAT’S NOT THE POINT!"
She dragged him toward the carriage and her grip was surprisingly strong.
"Can you walk?"
"I was walking fine until—"
"Shut up and let me help you."
He shut up and let her help.
As she guided him forward, her eyes were red. Like she’d been holding back tears.
She looks like she’s about to cry.
Funny.
I feel like crying too.
---
The carriage ride was slow.
Mira helped him inside as he struggled even sitting down. His muscles were locking up and his hands were shaking. Sweat covered his forehead, his body was finally realizing the fight was over.
And it was falling apart.
"Take off your shirt," Mira ordered.
Caelus raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?"
"I need to see the wound. Stop being difficult."
He complied. His movements were clumsy, each motion sending a fresh waves of pain through his shoulder.
Mira’s expression shifted when she saw it.
The stab wound was deep and jagged that it should have killed him. The fabric of his shirt had been pressed against it, soaking up blood. Now that it was removed, the wound began bleeding freely again.
She grabbed a cloth and began cleaning the blood.
"This is going to hurt."
"Just do—"
He didn’t finish the sentence.
She poured the healing potion directly onto the wound.
The pain came white-hot and explosive. His muscles contracted violently, his vision went white.
He bit down on his tongue, muffling a scream that was about to escape him.
I’ve too much dignity.
He felt his flesh stitching itself together. The sensation was horrible, muscles pulling, his skin knitting on their own, bones feeling crushed and reassembled.
He gasped as sweat poured down his face.
Then—
Warm relief spread through him.
The pain slowly faded and the wound closed, stopping the bleeding.
He collapsed against the seat, breathing heavily and shaking uncontrollably.
Mira forced another potion into his hands.
"Drink this."
"What is it?"
"Something disgusting. Drink it."
He drank it.
It tasted like rotten lemons liquefied into medicine and regret. The bitterness coated his tongue. The texture was thick and slimy that he almost gagged.
He gagged.
"That’s... horrible."
"Good. Drink the rest."
He drank the rest.
The carriage moved through the streets.
The noise of the city filtered through the windows, distant and unimportant. Merchants calling out their wares, children laughing, carriages passing by.
Caelus leaned back against the seat.
For the first time since the duel ended, he wasn’t thinking or wasn’t planning or wasn’t calculating.
He was just... existing.
I survived.
The thought came quietly, almost like a disbelief.
I actually survived.
He laughed, just enough to convince himself he was still alive.
It came out broken and slightly hysterical.
Mira looked at him.
"Are you okay?"
"I don’t know."
He stared at the ceiling of the carriage.
"I think I might be."
---
The carriage rumbled on and slowly, reality returned.
I survived.
But I’m still weak.
He filed away every future problem and didn’t spiral into anxiety about the Academy or the Goddess noticing the deviation or the world ending, didn’t think about the Saintess or the Cardinal or the political consequences.
First...
Money.
Because money would allow him to prepare for everything else. Training. Equipment. Information. Resources. Connections.
He began mentally cataloging his options. The Church owed him compensation. His donations would be returned. There were other opportunities, other resources he could leverage.
Future Caelus can worry about saving the world.
He paused.
I’m Future Caelus.
...Damn it.
The carriage continued toward House Vespera.
The distant spires appeared on the horizon, growing larger with each passing moment.
Silence settled between them.
Mira watched him carefully. Her panic had faded and was replaced by quiet concern.
"Are you ready to return?"
Caelus nodded.
The carriage picked up speed.
He leaned back against the seat, his eyes slowly closed.
Because for the first time since arriving in this world...
He deserved a few moments of peace.
And that peace didn’t last long.
...why is she here?